It's all Just Noise
by Carry.the.Banner
Summary: When a dark secret falls into the wrong hands, difficult and irreversible choices are made. However, it is quickly discovered that these choices breed their own secrets and consequences. For a pair of newsboys, the questions of right and wrong, good and evil are more than just everyday moral duality, they become life itself.
1. Chapter 1

The cigarette dangled loosely between his fingers. A steady stream of smoke rose into the cool night air, begging for attention, begging for the embers to glow a warm red as he inhaled. But it remained propped between his fingers, never entering his lungs. He wasn't trying to quit. In fact, smoke in his lungs was always a comfort, but tonight he wasn't looking for comfort. Tonight didn't feel worthy.

"I guess it's done."

"I guess so."

"Just that simple."

Another silence fell between the pair sitting in the dark. There wasn't much left to say. How could there be after what they had done? They watched it happen as if they were spectators, but it was in fact their hands that did the deed.

The more he thought about it, the faster his heart seemed to pound, bringing an overwhelming sensation back into his numbed body. Did it really happen? His hands began trembling out of his control and the cigarette fell to the ground. His now free hand clenched his chest as if he were trying to reach inside with his fingers and stop the beating. Unable to break through the skin he began pounding his chest and before he could do anything else, he let out a painful cry and jumped to his feet. He didn't know what he was doing but he knew it needed to come out.

"It's ok, we did the right thing," his companion said, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything. "We did the right thing." His quiet voice quavered and the tears erupted. He buried his face in his hands but he couldn't catch them all. Curled up on the wooden stairs he held his head to his knees and wailed.

Standing against the wall beside his weeping friend, the boy looked down at his hands. Even through his tears in the darkness they looked foreign to him. They felt foreign to him. How could they ever feel like his again? How could he claim what they had done?

In the darkness behind the building, the pair finally gripped the reality of their actions. They knew there would be consequences, but they were certain nothing could be worse than the grief and regret that they felt in that very moment.

"We can't tell the others," the boy said but his friend continued to sob. Anger rose so suddenly that he grabbed him by the hair and tore his head from his knees. He looked him dead in the eye. "Do you hear me?! We can't tell the others! Tell me you swear it! Tell me you swear it on your life!"

"I swear it! I swear it!"

Tears flowed even stronger and the boy slowly opened his fist, letting go of his friend's hair. The anger left and was just as quickly replaced with deep sadness. The pair embraced, holding onto each other as tightly as they would hold onto their secret, their cries rising up into the night like smoke.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two weeks earlier_

"Now this is a headline! Bout time!" a bespectacled newsboy said, holding up the top pape in his stack. "Double down boys, we got a murder today!"

 **DESIGNED TO FAIL:**

 **ARCHITECT FALLS TO DEATH, SUSPICION OF FOUL PLAY**

This was surely the best headline they had seen in months, and a guaranteed hot seller. Something you could push for two pennies if you were in the right neighborhood amongst the right crowd of nosey businessmen. What more, the architect in question was none other than Huey Bartlette. _The_ Huey Bartlette of Bartlette Bros, the most recognized name in building design in all of New York. Birdies had been chirping that the company might not be as spotless and pure as everyone was led to believe. Their quick and uninterrupted success turned some heads as they rose, but now it seemed they found a broken rung near the top of the ladder.

"This story'll keep up for weeks! Ya read it yet? Suspicions of an affair wit a client's wife! What a dog!" Racetrack said as he skimmed the article, leaning against the distribution counter. There was almost a hint of admiration in his voice, but who knows, maybe he was just excited about the prospect of the day's selling.

"I dunno, sounds to me that they already have a lead," Boots said, reading over his friend's shoulder as he waited for his own stack. "I hope they don' solve dis one too fast."

"What building is dis in da picture anyway?" Kid Blink asked, squinting with his one good eye at the grainy photo of a half completed building that took up most of the front page.

"What, having one eye affects your ability ta read? It's da new bank they building ova by Battery Park," Race smacked his friend in the face with the front page. "Silverman's, it says it right under the pitcha!"

"It's like holding gold in the palm of my hands!" Mush said. "I'm gonna sell so many'a these, I'll open up my own bank!"

"Yeah, Mush bank, sounds real apealin'," Boots said, rolling his eyes.

"Keep talkin boys," said Jack as he hoisted his 150 papers up onto his shoulder. He began to saunter out of the alleyway. "While yous all are fantasizin', I'll be in the streets, sellin ta all your customers." He turned to his friends, still sitting around the steps and gave them a smirk. "Might as well wait here for tomorrow's papes, it'll be old news once I sell 'em all their first editions!"

That was enough to shake the trance. The group of newsboys took up their papers and followed their unspoken leader out from the distribution center and into the streets, hawking the headline, the first to bring the news to the people.

"Hey Skittery! Wait up!"

Snitch spotted his friend across the street and ran over. It had been a long hot day of selling and he was drenched in sweat. It was just past one and the afternoon sun stood unforgivingly in the center of the sky, but he had barely noticed. He had only 3 papers left in his bag. This had been the fastest selling day of his life.

"Snitch! Isn't this crazy! I barely had to open my mouth, they were practically grabbing the papers out of my hand and throwin money at me!"

"I know! Some lady gave me a nickel for one! A nickel!" Snitch said. He grabbed the bag of money that hung at his side. He couldn't remember the last time it felt this full. He felt like a king. It meant a hot meal and an afternoon off, two things he rarely even aspired for.

"Do ya think there's gonna be an afternoon edition? Should we go back and check in with Weasel?" Skittery asked.

"I say we take a break, at least for a little while," Snitch said. Now that he stopped to talk to his friend, the fast paced morning began catching up to him. "What'd ya say I sell the last of these and we stop in ta see Tibby?"

Skittery was never the most expressive or even positive one of the group, but a wide smile spread across his face without hesitation. "I like the sound'a that!"

In no longer than 10 minutes the last of their papers were sold and they began making their way to the old café. It was a rare treat for a newsie to be able to afford a dining experience, but they had a feeling they wouldn't be alone today.

Just as they expected, the café was littered with exhausted, sweat-drenched but satisfied newsies. The pair took a seat in the back next to Swifty who was already hard to work at draining his first glass of Sassafras. They went ahead and ordered one each, as well as a roast beef sandwich and counted out their change as they waited.

"I can't believe dis, I got enough ta last me almost a whole week!" Snitch said, still in disbelief.

"You can count on this to ride out for a long time," Swifty said.

"Just as long as the headlines stay strong," Skittery put in.

"Oh, they will," Swifty said. But something in his voice sounded a bit too sure.

"Oh yeah?" Skittery asked.

"Yep. There's more to this story than the journalists have uncovered so far. A lot more."

"How do you know?" Snitch asked, eyeing his friend up curiously. Swifty was never a man of many words, especially words that fueled rumor or intrigue. Looking slightly uncomfortable at his slip of the tongue, Swifty slowly scanned the room. He watched the other newsies, lost in conversations and conquering the mountains of food that they spend nearly all their daily earnings on. They weren't listening, they were too caught up in living like the other half for an afternoon. Once he was convinced it was safe, he slid his chair a little closer to Snitch and Skittery.

"I took a chance. I knew I probably shouldn't have been down there, but I figured I could sell the most if I went right to the scene. I ended up hitting Battery this morning."

"You actually went to where Bartlette fell from that building?" Snitch asked, making sure to keep his voice down.

"Yes," Swifty said. "I let my curiosity get tha best of me. There weren't as many people ova there as I thought. Mostly just coppers an a few bankers, but I couldn't help myself. So I kinda snuck around tha wagons and tried to get closer ta see what was really goin on. Seemed to be like a normal after-murder scene, but I saw a group 'a men in suits walk down the alleyway next to the bank, so I followed them," he told his friends. "One by one they all snuck into tha building from a small door on tha side. Once they were all inside I made my way over to see where they had gone. They left the door open a crack an I could hear their voices but I couldn't see anything. It was like they were having some kind of a secret meeting or something, that's why they snuck away from the coppers. But I had to listen. Only… I really wish I hadn't."

He took a pause. Something shook him real good. Something he couldn't find in him to repeat.

"Swifty, what do you mean? What happened out there?" Skittery asked.

"I think I overheard something I shouldn't have. But I can't tell you here," he said. He scanned the café one more time before turning back to his friends. "Tonight. Meet me on tha roof."


End file.
